


Tradition of Fishin'

by Vivien



Category: Parks and Recreation
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-18
Updated: 2012-12-18
Packaged: 2017-11-21 10:27:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/596664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vivien/pseuds/Vivien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The art of fishing is something that's passed down from generation to generation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tradition of Fishin'

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CousinShelley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CousinShelley/gifts).



“Ron, did you burn the warts off the mule yet?”  
  
“Yes, Mother, I did,” Ron said, whittling the block of wood in his tiny hands. He was five, and old enough to do farm chores and carve wood. He was not old enough to go hunting yet. Or even fishing! His brother told him he was too little to carry a gun and so ugly he’d scare off the fish. It wasn’t fair. Soon he’d be nine and working at the factory and hunting whatever he darn well pleased and fishing whenever he felt like it. That would show his stupid brother.  
  
“Good. Get that cow milked and start on the churning. Grandaddy Macklin’s coming this weekend.”  
  
“He is?”  Ron jumped up, setting the knife and the block of wood down on the porch rail.  
  
Granddaddy Macklin was a giant man in Ron’s eyes. Giant and quiet. Everyone listened to him. When Granddaddy Macklin spoke, everyone stopped what they were doing and did as he said. He didn’t have to yell. He hardly ever even raised his voice.  
  
“Yep.” His mother didn’t sound too happy, but then she never sounded all that happy. “So we got to get this place in shape. Your brother’s taking an extra shift at the factory, and I got to get the washing done and the mattresses turned. After you’re done with the butter, get inside and start scrubbing that floor. No more whittling.”  
  
“Awww, not even when I get done?”  
  
“Don’t you backtalk me.”  
  
“Yes, ma’am.” Ron scuffed the toe of one shoe in the dirt and went off to milk the cow.

~~~  
  
“Daddy,” Tamara said, nodding at her father as he climbed out of his blue station wagon.  Her boys stood beside her at attention. Ron was in his Sunday best, even though it was only Friday evening.  
  
Their grandfather loomed over them and nodded back.  Ron’s brother hurried to the car and took the suitcase out of the back. While his brother was occupied, Ron looked up at his Grandaddy. Granddaddy Macklin winked at him and his lips twitched into a smile. “Son, help your brother out,” rumbled Granddaddy Macklin. “There's two fishing poles and a tackle box to bring in.”  
  
“We’re going fishing?” said his brother, tugging the suitcase to the porch.  
  
“Nope. We’re going hunting on Sunday. Ron and I are going fishing tomorrow, first thing.”

  
Ron beamed. He couldn’t believe it.  
  
“Come on in, Daddy,” said Tamara, looking slightly less sour than she usually did. “Dinner’s waiting.”  
  
~~~  
  
“Now, son,” Granddaddy Macklin said, casting his line out into the still waters of the lake.  “When we catch a fish, we are communing with nature at its most basic level. We are hunters and this is our prey. We honor the prey before we kill it and eat it to sustain our bodies and minds. Do you understand?”  
  
“Yes, Granddaddy,” said Ron, his eyes wide.  
  
“It’s time for quiet,” his grandfather said, and then said nothing more. Ron sat in silence beside him, breathing in the mixture of his grandfather’s Old Spice, the loam of the boat, and the muddy smell of the lake.  
  
Ron liked quiet. Too much of his life was loud.  He wished Granddaddy Macklin could live with him. He’d clear his throat and keep Momma from screaming and hollering and his brother from hollering back.  
  
But his Granddaddy didn’t live with them. He only came sometimes.  
  
The water rippled and Ron froze. Was it a fish? If it was, he felt no tugs on his line. He breathed out again and looked up at his grandfather. Granddaddy kept his eyes on the water, but Ron saw the slow smile spread across his face.  
  
This was the best day. He thought woodworking was fun, but fishing with his grandfather was perfect. Now if he could only go hunting...  
  
That night his mother cooked up the fish that he and his grandfather caught.  
  
“It hardly counts as meat,” she complained, but Ron thought it tasted almost as good as a hamburger.  
  
It wasn’t close to being as good as a steak, but at least he caught it and killed it all by himself.

~~~  
  
Ron would have more of these days, on and off through the years. When Granddaddy Macklin died, Ron tried to go out on his own. At first it wasn’t the same. The quiet was different in the absence of the giant man he’d adored. Eventually, though, he got to where he could enjoy the solo experience. He’d cast his line and settle in, remembering the smell of his grandfather’s cologne and the sound of his companionable stillness.  
  
When he wasn’t at school or working - or hunting, once he turned seven - he’d be out on the lake.  
  
He invited work friends out fishing. Sometimes. If he felt like it. And if he liked them a great deal.  
  
Ron tried taking Andy fishing. It didn’t work so well. The boy could not stop talking to save his life. He scared every fish in a five mile radius away.  
  
“Son, you have to stop talking,” he growled, barely keeping his voice civil. “This is a quiet busi-”  
  
“Right, right, hunters, prey, I got it.”  
  
Andy was quiet for almost one minute.  
  
“Oh, wow, I think I saw a turtle.”  
  
Ron shook his head and mourned the lack of anything resembling silence.

~~~  
  
He tried again when  Andy and April’s little boy, Orin, turned five.  
  
“I’d like to take him fishing,” he’d told April.  
  
“Sure, okay, I guess. Do you want to, Orin?”  
  
Orin shook his head yes, looking up at Ron with big brown eyes.  
  
“Can I come?” Andy asked, perking up like a puppy dog hearing food poured into its bowl.  
  
Orin kept staring at Ron, only his eyes opened a little wider in alarm.  
  
“I think it’ll just be me and the boy this time, Andy. That way we can actually catch some fish.”  
  
“Right, right, cool. Okay! You guys will have fun. Except for all the not talking. Or moving. Or catching fish.”  
  
“When can we go?” Orin asked in a quiet, yet eager, voice.  
  
“I was thinking Saturday morning. I’ll be here before the sun comes up. You think you can be awake that early?”  
  
Orin beamed up at Ron and nodded his head yes.


End file.
